


Two Weddings

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Series: New Targaryen Dynasty [7]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Lots of it, Marriage, The Old Gods - Freeform, The Seven, Wedding, post Battle of the Dawn, religion I guess, rlj
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: The two weddings of Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow.





	Two Weddings

**Author's Note:**

> It's (finally) up! 
> 
> So obviously, lots of fluff. I tried to research both types of weddings as much as I could on the wiki page and all the rituals are as accurate as I could make them. Apologies for any inaccuracies 
> 
> And yes, I know there's no smut-honestly, I don't have enough experience at writing it so I just decided to keep it PG-13. 
> 
> And if it seems like everyone is too casual with each other, I do plan on writing other stories to explain exactly how things got to this point. 
> 
> I don't own Game of Thrones or its characters; all rights to GRR Martin and HBO
> 
> My official tumblr is blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice. Visit me there for information on the first part of the series-I also take requests for AUs and possibly oneshots once I have a few more written. I might also post drabbles and extra info on the series (especially the kids) during the summer when school gets out.

“I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name, the Stormborn, Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Princess of Dragonstone, Mother of Dragons, do legitimize you in the eyes of gods and men. Rise, Lord Stark.” 

The last of the early morning mist was being burned away by the rising sun as the first weak rays of sunlight lit up the small chapel-but despite the ungodly hour, it was already packed wall to wall with people. They varied in their names and affiliations, in the clothing they wore and the sigils sewn to their breast pockets, but they were all here for the same reason-to see the Queen legitimize the bastard she would soon take to wed. She knew they all wondered why she was doing it; why was she arranging a marriage with someone so low born, even if he had ties to the North? But she feared what they would say about him when they found out the truth, so the marriage had to be consummated before the Faith could try to tear them apart. It was a dangerous game, and time was of the essence. 

Jon smiled convincingly as he rose, though he knew as well as she did that he was anything but a bastard. The crowd applauded politely-Sansa and Arya sat in the front row, beaming, Gendry in the second-but Tyrion hadn’t come, as involved as he was in checking on all of the last minute preparations for the wedding. She wondered if he was as tired as she felt-they had been up for hours the week before with Jon, deciding how exactly they would break the news that he was secretly a Targaryen. Eventually they’d decided to let the truth come out naturally after the wedding, dropping clues one at a time until the nobles put it together for themselves in such a way that the royals remained blameless. 

They walked out of the chapel, and it was all she could do not to take his hand. Only a few more hours and this charade will be over. 

They waited until they’d reached the upper floors of the castle where they could actually be alone and the last of the nobles had peeled away before they celebrated. Sansa hugged Jon fiercely and even Arya embraced him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’ve always been our brother,” she said, tousling his hair fondly. “We’ve always known it, but now you know it too.”

“Jon Stark,” Jon replied, slowly and almost lovingly, as though trying out the sound of the words on his tongue. “The name I wanted more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.” 

“Only until tonight,” Dany added. He would take her surname-something the faith had objected to, but she’d remained firm; it wouldn’t be long until they had other problems to worry about. “Jon Targaryen.” She did take his hand, now that they were alone; she let her index finger wander to his pulse, listening to his heartbeat rapidly under his skin. Excitement, maybe a few nerves-the same way she felt. Though not because she was nervous about their marriage itself but because she wanted the wedding to be something she remembered fondly. Everyone said the third time was the charm, and she couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else. 

Sansa sighed excitedly, practically rocking back and forth on her heels. “What are we supposed to do for the rest of the day?” 

“Act normally. Whatever normal is these days.” Arya shrugged, as if she didn’t really care one way or the other. “Pretend we’re not sitting on a secret that could change the course of the Seven Kingdoms forever.”

Gendry scoffed, almost knocking over a vase when he leaned against a nearby table. “It’s not really that important, is it?” 

Arya and Sansa exchanged a glance. “Considering what happened the last time Rhaegar Targaryen’s name was mentioned? I’d say it really is.” 

 

The day was almost torturously long. Jon spent most of the day out in the barracks of the City Watch, slipping into his old role as Commander as he ran drills and organized rotations, trying to distract himself from what was coming later that night. It was never too far from his mind, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a bad thing or a good thing since it didn’t make the time go any faster. 

Arya spent the day with him, glaring at anyone who thought to question what she was doing in the City Watch barracks and moving a hand menacingly towards Needle whenever anyone got too close. At first he thought she was trying to be helpful, but as the hours drew on he realized she was just being a nuisance. 

“Why are you shaking?” Arya asked, poking his hand with the hilt of her sword-Jon hadn’t realized until that moment how badly he was trembling. “It’s just marriage. It doesn’t have to mean anything. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the coronation.” 

“I’m worried about both of them.” He glanced furtively down the corridor; it was a shift rotation, so the air was filled with soldiers talking, laughing, and playing cards. Even so, he sidled a little closer to Arya and kept his voice low. “I’m worried I’m making a mistake, marrying into such a powerful alliance. Peace is already so tenuous-” 

Arya didn’t seem phased. “Of course you’re not. Do you really think I’d be letting you marry someone if I didn’t think they deserved you? I don’t care about what she looks like or who her family name is-you’re my brother, Jon, and nothing will ever change that. You deserve the best, and although there’s no one out there who can ever meet those standards...Dany’s pretty close. Besides, you’re happier with her-I barely ever see you moping these days.” 

“I never moped.”

She rolled her eyes. “All you did was mope. You were the mopiest bastard I’ve ever met.” 

“Mopier than Gendry?”

She swung Needle at him lightly and he parried her strike, the mood feeling considerably lighter. “Leave Gendry out of this. Anyway, you’re not a bastard anyway-are you? That 'powerful alliance' is a birthright. Most people would be willing to die for it, but you seem determined to be miserable about it."

He grinned at her and shook his head, feeling the fear abate a little bit. “When did you get to be so wise? The last time we were at Winterfell, all you wanted to do was swordfight and bother your sister-and now you could rule a country, if you wanted to.” 

She shook her head. “I could never. I don’t have the patience or the compassion that you and Dany have. I’m not a diplomat-I solve my problems with a sword.” 

“So where do you go after this? I expect you don’t have any interest in staying in King’s Landing?” 

“I made a promise to Gendry. Once Storm’s End is secure...I don’t know. Maybe I’ll sail to Essos and buy a huge manse with two hundred servants-or maybe I’ll just buy a boat and never come back. Unless you need me.” 

He wanted to hug her, but he knew she wouldn’t stand for it. “I’m so glad that both you and Sansa approve of her. I don’t want to do this without you at my side.”

“Of course not. The last time you left us you got yourself stabbed.” Arya’s tone had gone back to matter of fact, not sentimental at all. “Although you realize that since she doesn’t have any family left you’ll have to share her with us?” 

“I don’t think that will be a problem. You both seem to have taken a shine to her already.” 

Just then the bells rang to signal the end of the break period and the halls of the barracks were suddenly swarmed with people again. A few bowed to Jon respectfully; one actually dropped to his knees and two more took off their helmets. He waved them up, unsure what the gesture for at-ease was. It was something else he’d have to get used to; he wasn’t used to people worshipping the ground he walked on. 

Arya grabbed his sleeve and steered him towards the exit, where the city streets were draped in Targaryen red and black as far as the eye could see. “It’s time to go back now, don’t you think?”

“I suppose we should.” And for once, as he looked at the towering castle that would soon be his permanent home, he didn’t feel the slightest bit of anxiety. 

 

Dany sat on her balcony and watched the dark of night settle in, while the noises of the city drifted up to her. She’d long since stopped reading through the pile of memos Tyrion had deposited on her desk that morning, overtaken by nerves about what would happen later that night. 

As far as everyone in the city knew, from the diplomats to the members of powerful families who had come to court to swear their fealty and shower them with wedding gifts, the wedding would take place tomorrow in the throne room (since the Sept of Baelor was no longer an option). However, the Starks still prayed to the Old Gods-so the real ceremony would take place at moonrise, in the palace godswood with only a small number of people in attendance. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t excited, but she was also-surprisingly-nervous. There was something about this wedding that made it different her other two weddings. Perhaps it was simply because this was something that she wanted, with all of her heart and soul. She wanted Jon to rule at her side for the rest of her life, to raise their children, to die someday far in the future hand in hand in their sleep with a new generation of heirs. It was a choice she was making, instead of a decision someone was forcing upon her that she had to accept. 

She prayed for the first time in her life, to Jon’s gods, that the night would go off without a hitch. It didn’t seem right to start their married life out wrong. She didn’t want any omens hanging over their heads, because she was done with prophecies. From the moment the Night’s King had been killed, her life had become her own. 

Finally, the moment the clock chimed eleven, there was a knock on her doorframe and Sansa beckoned her inside. “Are you ready?”

Dany nodded as she grabbed her papers, throwing them haphazardly in a pile on her desk and shutting the doors with a soft click. She took a seat in front of the mirror and Sansa grabbed her brush, brushing her long blonde tresses again and again until they shone in the dim candlelight. The castle was unnaturally quiet; most of the servants had either gone home for the night or were sleeping soundly in their chambers. This would be an affair among family; the pomp and circumstance would come tomorrow. “I’ve never seen a godswood wedding.”

“It’s easy to follow; you won’t do anything wrong,” Sansa replied, crossing to her cabinet and picking out the dress they had picked for the occasion. It was white but not terribly fancy, and Sansa had painstakingly embroidered a dragon and a wolf intertwined above the right breast; they both agreed it looked spectacular, in contrast to the white confection she would wear the next day. Her ‘actual’ wedding dress was made of ivory silk, and had a twelve foot long train. Next she put on the jewelry-again, nothing too fancy, selected by Missandei: a necklace, dangling silver earrings, and the three headed dragon pin Dany always wore-added a simple braid down the back that allowed the rest of the hair to hang long, and grabbed a pair of soft leather sandals. The ensemble was meant to be simple; a way to showcase their love for each other instead of their respective houses. 

She surveyed herself in the mirror critically. “It feels...different than it did the other times. It’s beautiful.” And she felt beautiful, too. She’d always known that she was beautiful; people had always said so, as long as she could remember, and it was something that she accepted as fact-but she’d never seen herself look so happy that she could practically see her skin glowing.  
Sansa shook her head ruefully. “I gave up on dreams and prayers a long time ago, but when I see how you look at him, and how he looks at you...sometimes I still hope.” 

Dany squeezed her hand, suddenly feeling a rush of sadness for the girl who had been forced to grow up too fast and had seen just as many awful things-if not more-than she had. “You’ll find the one who’s right for you one day. And knowing the gods, it will probably be when you least expect it.” 

Sansa cleared her throat and adjusted a vase of flowers underneath the mirror. “I always wished that I had an older sister. I could have used advice, even before Father became Hand.” She scoffed. “I didn’t know what love was.” 

“No one ever does, until it happens to them-and very few are lucky enough to ever experience it. But if it’s any consolation, you can come to me for anything you need. I’m sorry that I’m taking Jon away from you so soon-”

Sansa laughed and put on her shoes-even in bare feet, she towered over Dany (but that wasn’t surprising because almost everyone did). “You’re welcome to him. He needs to feel productive, and I don’t think there’s anything more productive than ruling a kingdom. Besides, the two of you are good together, and after everything, you deserve happiness.” She went to the window, looked outside, and then headed towards the door. “Now let’s go-we have to get you married.” 

 

The godswood was still and silent, as though in preparation for what was about to happen. The only sounds were the crackle of the torches burning in the darkness, and the rustle of capes and shifting of feet as Jon, Missandei, Grey Worm, Arya, and Gendry waited next to the towering heart tree. The world was hushed and expectant; even the celebrations of King’s Landing seemed miles away. 

Finally, Sansa crept from the darkness into the warm circle of torchlight, smiling brightly. “She’s ready,” she said in a hushed voice, standing on Jon’s other side-the side not already occupied by Arya. Jon’s stomach thrummed with excitement, and he wondered-not for the first time-what his parents would think if they could be here. What Ned would think. 

They heard them before they saw them-the crack of pine needles and sticks underfoot-before Dany turned the corner into the grotto, escorted by Tyrion. It had been a scramble to find someone to give her away, since all of her immediate family were long since dead, but Tyrion had seemed to be the perfect choice-and now Jon was sure he had been. Who else labored tirelessly for his soon-to-be wife? And Tyrion looked regal too, wearing a red doublet with a dragon embroidered on the shoulders.  
Dany looked radiant; the happiness fell off of her in waves, as he was sure his did. 

Finally, when they were close enough, Arya took hold of his sleeve and gently nudged him forward. “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

“Daenerys, of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed,” Tyrion replied. “A woman grown, true and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” 

Jon had to force himself not to trip over the unfamiliar words. “Jaehaerys, of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. Who gives her?”

“Tyrion, of the House Lannister, her closest advisor.”

“Queen Daenerys, do you take this man?” Arya asked. 

“I take this man,” Dany replied. He could hear her smile through the words. 

They knelt and Jon unclasped his cape, draping it around her shoulders and carefully pinning it into place just above the neckline of her dress-and just like that, it was over. Barely fifty words had been exchanged and Jon was a married man. 

In an uncharacteristically joyful move, Dany practically leapt into his arms and he barely had time to support her before her mouth was on his and they were kissing. Jon could hear people laughing-or, in Arya’s case, sounding like she was trying not to gag-but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were a married couple and their forbidden love was suddenly no longer forbidden. The things he had dreamed about, had kept to himself for far too long, all suddenly seemed possible-not only sleeping together, although that would be enjoyable, but also children and name days and talking long into the night about meaningless things. 

“I love you,” she whispered into the shell of his ear and the curve of his neck. 

“I love you too,” he replied, pulling her closer-

Until he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “All right, lovebirds,” Gendry said good naturedly. “As inspiring as I find your love story, I really must remind you that we have a busy day tomorrow and you may want to save the...traditional wedding night festivities until you have more time to enjoy them? Especially since tomorrow morning the two of you are supposed to be waking up on opposite sides of the palace?”

Hesitantly Jon drew away-even though all he wanted to do was stay there in the grotto until the sun rose, maybe forever. 

“No need to look like we just took away your favorite toys,” Tyrion replied. “After tomorrow, you’ll be able to have each other whenever you want to.” 

Jon sighed, squeezing Dany’s hand once before he slowly disentangled his other hand from her hair. One more night. One more night, and then we’ll be free. 

“Come on,” Tyrion said, leading the way back to the palace. “I’m sure the Queen won’t object if we break out a few bottles of aged Dornish reds…” The others followed him, their laughter carrying on the night breeze, but Dany and Jon brought up the rear. They were more subdued, more careful; every touch seemed fresh and exciting. 

They didn’t let their hands drop until they were well outside the weirwood grove and they had no other choice. 

 

Dany woke up disgruntled, and with the overwhelming feeling that she was missing something important. For a minute she didn’t know what was wrong-and then she remembered. She was married. 

She was about to get married a second time. 

And then, tonight…

Of course, the sex would never be as good as it had that night at Winterfell, when they had nothing to lose but everything to gain...but this time they were fighting to create something meaningful: their child. 

She got up and crossed to her desk, twisting her hair into a simple updo as she examined herself in the mirror critically. Did anything about her look different? Would anyone who hadn’t been in the godswood with her realize that she was already married? Could they see the glow of happiness still radiating off her skin, even as she tried to control it? 

But when the door opened and her handmaidens trooped inside, laughing and talking amongst each other as they got to work preparing her for the wedding ceremony itself, they didn’t seem to see anything was wrong. Only Missandei smiled at her secretively as she tied off another braid; she suddenly felt so old compared to all of her other handmaidens, although they were her age or younger. They heated water for her bath and scrubbed every inch of her until she felt red and raw, brushing and braiding her hair ever more intricately and rubbing sweet smelling oils and lotions into her skin. All the while she looked out the window, watching the nobles and merchants alike file into the throne room; it would be a full ceremony, undoubtedly. 

The girls buzzed about who would be there-they all had favorite members of the nobility, and they whispered amongst themselves excitedly as they attended to the Queen. She’d made it clear very early on that she didn’t mind if they talked; she wanted to learn as much about them as she could, even though handmaidens in Westeros were very different than they were in Essos-they talked less, and their smiles had several different meanings. 

One of them placed a fresh violet in her hair, picked by Sansa that morning, expertly twining it in and out of her braids until it lay flat just beside her right ear. 

Another laid out her jewelry-the same necklace, pins, and earrings from the night before, but now there were others: golden bracelets, necklaces of amethyst, a ring of pale pink quartz. They’d even managed to find a dragon pin studded with blood red rubies, which they swept into her hair as well so it looked at them with deep cobalt eyes. 

Then it was time for the dress-a pure ivory, with tiny diamond beads woven in among the folds of the skirt so it would shimmer when she moved. More beads formed a dragon on her shoulder, a twin to the one she had worn the night before. There was also a train-layers upon layers of fabric that two separate girls had to hold so she wouldn’t trip over it on her way out the door. She’d wanted to wear pants underneath the dress, as she usually did, but they hadn’t allowed it-and she felt oddly exposed as she pulled on a pair of white sandals and looked at herself in the mirror, a vision of white. 

She still liked the girl she’d seen in the mirror the night before much better. 

Once her red and black cape was draped loosely around her shoulders, it was off to the wedding breakfast-all before the sun was halfway to its zenith. 

The breakfast was a long and meandering affair; Dany, Arya, Sansa, Missandei, and a host of other women all broke their fast together and she had to spend a nearly mind numbing hour talking about people she didn’t know and castles she’d never heard of. The gifts were more than satisfactory, however-there was everything from tiny wine glasses carved in the shape of dragons to a lacy set of undergarments from Margaery Tyrell that made everyone giggle excitedly, even as Dany felt the back of her neck heat up and she tucked the outfit away for safekeeping. “Not that Lord Stark has any cause to resist you, your Grace,” she replied, batting her eyelashes so hard that it almost looked painful to Dany. But the former queen’s face was open and curious; there was nothing in her eyes to hide a double meaning. At least, not that she could tell.

Arya tried to sharpen a knife under the edge of the table until Sansa jostled her elbow so hard she almost cut her hand off.  
Sansa looked beautiful as always, with her long auburn hair braided into a coronet on top of her head; and even Arya looked pretty in a pale grey dress with a simple v-neck bodice. It wasn’t fancy, but it brought out her eyes-Dany shouldn’t have been surprised that she cleaned up so well, but it was disconcerting to see Arya look so different from the girl she knew. 

After the breakfast they all trooped off to the throne room, which was already packed to bursting. A small aisle had been cleared leading up to the throne, where the High Septon would be waiting to perform the ceremony, but otherwise the room was filled wall to wall with people. She could barely see their makeshift altar; could barely see Jon-though she knew that he would be waiting with the High Septon. She only got a glance or two before she was forced to wait in the vestibule with the rest of her ladies in waiting, the Stark girls, Tyrion, and five little girls who would be carrying her train down the aisle. 

The ceremony started off with many prayers and readings about poverty and prosperity, love and duty, and all the other cliches she expected to hear about at a wedding. She only half paid attention, thinking about how much simpler the ceremony at the heart tree had been. The ceremony would be over in half the time it took the Septon to stop praying. 

She felt the imperceptible change in attention just before Tyrion presented his arm to her and gave her a quick smile. “Don’t trip in those shoes,” he whispered as she took his arm and they started walking. 

The whispers spread through the sept like the murmur of wind on water-a Targaryen bride, wearing a cape the colors of her house, when most people had never expected to see one again, much less as their queen. But she ignored them, focusing only on Tyrion’s presence next to her and trying not to step on her own dress-until she reached the steps leading up to the throne and Jon joined her. It was impossible not to smile when she saw him, resplendent in Stark regalia. He’d managed to tame his hair somewhat and his curls were orderly, but he too seemed to glow with happiness. It was all she could do not to kiss him right then and there. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under her protection,” the septon said as Tyrion presented her and Dany stepped forward. She felt rather than saw Jon step behind her and carefully pull off her Targaryen cape, replacing it with his own in Stark colors. She felt his fingertips graze her back for a minute until he pulled away, leaving her skin starved for his touch. 

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the septon continued. Jon slipped his hand into hers and squeezed, just for a second. She couldn’t look at him, sure that if she did her elation would show on her face. Only Jon Snow could make her feel like a virgin again, like stealing kisses in the back alley of Illyrio’s manse when she was sure no one was looking...although no one had ever kissed her like Jon did. 

The septon’s hand moved deftly around theirs, tying their hands together with a thick black ribbon. “Let it be known that Queen Daenerys, of the House Targaryen, and Jon, of the House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who seeks to tear them apart.” He waited a moment for dramatic effect; the room was as quiet as a tomb. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” He unraveled the ribbon, sealing their union in an untouchable way. 

But the ceremony still wasn’t over. “Look upon each other and say the words.” 

They turned to face each other and recited the words simultaneously, as she was sure they’d both practiced dozens of times: “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone Stranger…” The words had never meant anything to Dany, just more gods she had to pledge herself to; but in that moment, in the presence of so many believers, she wondered if perhaps there was something to faith after all-though she loved the solemnity of the old gods more than the pompous arrogance of the Seven. 

Jon said “I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days,” at the same time she said “I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days.” 

Finally, after what felt like an interminably long pause, Jon stepped forward and said “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” It was a chaste kiss, scaled back for the benefit of a church full of ‘pious’ nobility, but the crowd still applauded anyway, especially when they turned to face them still clasped hand in hand. 

“I’m never going to let go,” Dany said quietly as they filed out of the throne room, followed by the first few rows of wedding guests. 

“Fine by me,” Jon replied, kissing the top of her forehead as they passed through the open doors, thrown open to tempt a nonexistent breeze. And for the first time ever, no one looked at them strangely. 

 

The wedding party was in full swing. 

It was outlandish, just as Arya had known it would be-thirty courses and a cake that was bigger than she was. There were men who juggled fire and puppet shows about dragons and singers who sang the same ballads over and over until Arya wanted to kill them for a change of pace. There was fish and meat and thinly sliced potatoes, sugared fruits, chocolate tortes that burst into piles of melty chocolate when she poked them with a finger, rich vegetable soups, white and brown rice, and a dozen other foods she couldn’t name (including something tough and thick she was later told was elephant meat). Jon and Dany were so obviously in love it was almost painful to look at-they were forever looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes, kissing when they thought no one was looking, and generally looking enamored with each other. She could probably have set herself on fire and run around the Great Hall and they would only have told her not to knock anything over. 

She surveyed the large space from her spot at the raised dais usually reserved for royalty. Dany and Jon were in the center of the table, followed by her and Sansa, Tyrion, Gendry, Missandei and Grey Worm, Margaery and Olenna Tyrell, Nymeria Martell and Ellaria Sand, Yara Greyjoy, a young man named Jan Royce who was attending the wedding in place of Robin Arryn, and a pair of Lannisters Tyrion had invited because he had to. The other tables were chock full with lesser nobles and hedge knights, who had taken to drinking loud and bawdy songs and sloshing half full tankards of ale over their heads. A sense of happiness and contentment was palpable. 

Gendry jostled her arm to get her attention. “People should get married more often, if they have all this different food.” 

“They don’t tell you that it costs half the royal treasury to make it happen.” She’d heard Jon complain about money; apparently, Tyrion had tried to have forty courses but her brother had negotiated it down to thirty, and whatever they didn’t eat would go to the peasants in Flea Bottom. “If you want different food, you can always go to Braavos.” 

He arched an eyebrow curiously. “Maybe if you come with me, to show me the best places.” 

The back of her spine prickled and she realized suddenly that there was more to the question than what was being said on the surface. She couldn’t have said what; all she knew was that he was offering a next step and whatever she said next would redefine their relationship in every meaningful way. 

“Of course,” she replied, meeting his eyes. “I’d love to-but you have to pay for passage on a ship.”

He grinned and mussed his hair almost self consciously-though she didn’t know what he could possibly feel self conscious about. “It would be my pleasure, Arry.” 

She didn’t correct him; for once, it was nice that someone still remembered the person she’d been once-sometimes it felt like she forgot herself. 

 

The feasting and toasting went on long into the night. The wine kept flowing and the courses were brought out one by one, each more delicious than the last, culminating with a wedding cake that tasted of spun sugar. It seemed that Jon never stopped making conversation-there was always someone to talk with and a congratulations to accept, and there was always Dany and the thought of what came next. 

He wasn’t stupid; he knew that she had much more experience in the art of lovemaking than he did. But still he couldn’t help but wonder how this time would compare to last time, now that they had all the time in the world.

Although he was beginning to wonder if they would ever actually get to consummate, seeing as the banquet was liable to go on for the next three or four days. 

“You haven’t touched the cake,” Dany said with concern, nudging the plate closer to him as if trying to entice him to have another bite. 

“I don’t think I could,” he replied. “I liked the torte too much.” 

“Really? The lemon cakes were Sansa’s favorite.” She glanced pointedly down the table, where Sansa was trying to (inconspicuously) take a second from the plate. 

He couldn’t help laughing. “No change there.” 

She straightened up, surveying the crowd and the peals of laughter rising into the air as jokes were told and funny stories exchanged. “I’d say that everything went well.”

He nodded. “I don’t know how Tyrion did it, but he managed to pull off a miracle.” Although he knew the wedding wasn’t the only miracle they had to celebrate. 

“Do you think the flame jugglers may have been a bit much?”

“No,” he said just as a dog went streaking across the grand dais with the tip of its tail singed black. “I think it sets the mood perfectly.” The dragons were back-and they wouldn't be leaving for a long time. 

She gently rested her hand on his thigh under the table. “I liked our first wedding better.”

“So did I.” 

“I still don’t particularly believe in gods though.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll convert you. We have time.” We have all the time in the world. 

He knew it wouldn’t always be like this-looking down over her (soon to be his) subjects in utter bliss and happiness, with their family around them and peace and stability in the kingdoms secure-but for the moment he was happy to soak it up. As he looked up at the windows that let in the silver moonlight, mingling with the light of what seemed like hundreds of torches in braziers, he felt that he could see a lifetime spread out ahead of them-war and peace and children, laughing and playing, that had Dany’s hair and his eyes. 

He took her hand in his and held it gently while they remained in silence, committing a perfect moment to memory. 

 

Later, much later, after everyone had started clamoring for the bedding ceremony, she’d left the rest of the revelries in Tyrion’s hands (which may or may not have been a good plan) and the marriage had been consummated, Dany listened to both the sounds of the continuing revels dying off in the Great Hall far below and Jon’s breathing next to her. His hair tickled the top of her head and she was turned to face him, seeing the candlelight outline the hard planes in his face and the light in his eyes. 

“You know what this means?” She tried not to yawn but she didn’t quite succeed; she didn’t know what time it was, but it was very, very late. 

“Hmm?” Jon’s voice had adopted the deep baritone of near sleep. 

“We’ll have to have a tourney for your coronation.”

“Really? And how much is that going to cost?”

“Tyrion is going to call in more favors.”

He sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed; she had to fight the temptation to run her fingers across his eyelashes. “Or the Crown will just be completely broke. All of these wars can’t have been good for it.” 

“If the Usurper never ran out of coin, then we won’t either.” She yawned again, burrowing deeper into the black and red coverlet. “I wonder if he and Cersei Lannister slept here, in this room. I wonder if my mother and father did. I might have been conceived in this very bed.” 

Jon groaned quietly. “I’d rather not think about it.” 

“Jon.”

“Hmm.” He was minutes away from falling asleep. 

Her skin still tingled where he’d kissed her-almost everywhere, it felt like. “I always expected that being here in the Red Keep, at last, would feel like coming home. It was the only thing I ever wanted, the only thing I was ever taught to believe in. But it didn’t, at first. Not…” She almost said ‘Not until you came along’ but stopped herself just in time. 

“What about now?” Jon replied, opening his eyes again-although they were bleary with sleep. “Does it feel like home now?”

“Yes,” she replied, running her fingers down his shoulders and tracing circles on his back. “It does. Good night, husband.” The word felt new and fragile-and she suddenly wanted to use it whenever she could, until the novelty had worn off and it became a part of her. She wondered when love had become so difficult, so hard to understand...so beautiful.

He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, the side of her mouth, and the edge of her collarbone before he finally kissed her lips. “Good night, wife.” 

She heard his breathing even out immediately but she stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the sounds he made as he slept and delighting in the fact that he would be there in the morning when she woke up-and every morning after.


End file.
